


Suzeran

by JoAsakura



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-19 06:20:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7348573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoAsakura/pseuds/JoAsakura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McCree never expected Hanzo to take him up on a date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This got longer than I expected. :T

High Mountain Country, a bar that is just shy of a shack in the middle of nowhere. The darkening sky is great violet bowl overhead as sputtering neon lights the dusty parking lot.

McCree's not sure why he chose this place - maybe entirely because of it's remoteness, as far away from what their daily lives have become as possible without maybe heading up to Winston's lunar ape colony. He comes up here to think.

Maybe even hide, once in a great while.

And he's surprised when Hanzo even agrees. More surprised when he shows up, rented car covered in dust and pollen, in flannel and jeans, trucker cap pulled down low over his greying hair. Wears the costume like he doesn't spend his days in a kimono shooting people with a bow and arrow. The only thing that sets him apart as they step in, greeted by the heavy smack of cheap beer and cheaper cigars, country music and conversation a dull roar spilling out into the night, is the glimpse of his prosthetics. They're not delicate - nothing about Hanzo is *delicate*- but they're clearly more refined than the garden variety cybernetics a farmer might get after losing a foot to a wheat thresher.

Hanzo pauses at the door and McCree panics, just for a second. Considers the whole affair to be a gigantic tactical error as he watches the archer scan the room. But then he touches McCree's arm and disappears in the dim, smoky light, towards the jukebox, leaving the cowboy to order up two bottles of swill lager

McCree should have known he was in trouble when Hanzo promptly dumped a few bucks into the jukebox and put on goddamn classical music.

(Johnny-fucking-Cash) McCree thinks, scooping up the cold, sweating bottles.

He hasn't asked Hanzo how he lost his legs. Hanzo hasn't asked how McCree lost his arm, and the cowboy wonders, not for the first time, if anyone in this new patchworked Overwatch is even remotely intact in either body or soul.

(Zenyatta, probably.) He ponders as he navigates the crowd. Zenyatta *clearly* has his shit together. Maybe it's an Omnic thing.

The floor's sticky, and McCree wonders what the sensitivity levels in Hanzo's feet are like. Wonders about the sensitivity levels of a lot of things before he walks straight into the pool table.

Hanzo catches the beer as it goes flying and laughs. (It's a nice laugh, low and quick and fragile, like a fox slipping out of a trap and the archer hides the rest of it with a swig of beer.) "You promised you were going to teach me how to shoot pool, Mister McCree." He says, holding that beer bottle that's sweating like McCree wishes he wasn't. He's somehow managed to clear the table of any other takers. It doesn't surprise him - McCree knows they both radiate trouble like a poisonous frog might signal it. No matter how good the camoflauge , it's always there.

"It's all about th' physics of it." McCree chugs his drink and grabs a cue, shaking away the grimmer thoughts that threaten to surface. "Angles and whatnot. Like shootin'." He tips his brim to Hanzo and sets the beer down to rack the balls.

"Go easy on me, Mister McCree." The archer says primly, leaning on his cue. There's a twinkle in his dark eyes as "Mean Eyed Cat" plays in background and McCree wonders if that's a sign.

"Now, Mister Shimada, you don't strike me as a fella who likes it easy in any event." McCree retorts, and the little flush in response makes him grin around his stump of a cigar.

(Nailed it)

~~

An hour later, McCree's wallet is empty and Hanzo is lightly twirling the cue like a weapon.

"You fuckin' hustled me." He says, unable to work up too much ire. He should have known he was in trouble when the Johnny Cash started in.

"You don't strike me as a fellow who likes it easy, either." Hanzo quirks a tiny smile at him as he sets the cue down and counts his money. "You didn't think an archer might not know angles and whatnot? The physics of it?"

"Consider me duly chastised." McCree tips his hat and the archer's smile broadens for a moment. "However, I was going to purchase you a delightful dinner with the money you just fairly won from me."

He can barely hear the soft tap of Hanzo's prosthetics as the archer pads over to him, plucking the cigar from McCree's mouth to take a drag. But he hears the whisper well enough. "I would consider skipping dinner, if you, in turn, consider making breakfast."

"Hanzo, you don't gotta..." McCree starts, but the archer fixes him with those dark eyes as surely as any arrow. Johnny's singing about breaking free of his rusty cage and for a moment, all the other sound in the bar fades into the background of McCree's awareness.

It's just the two of them and Johnny Cash singing about hurt and freedom.

"Someone reminded me recently that I need to stop living in the past. I'm..." Hanzo stubs out the cigar and takes another swig of his beer. "I'm still figuring that out, but if you're willing to take this as it is..."

McCree's dragging him out before he can finish. The haptics in his hand sensing the hammering of Hanzo's pulse, the truth his calm face refuses to share. They both *want* and neither one is any good at wanting.

But they're barely out into the neon night, gravel scuffing under their feet as McCree doesn't fight it when Hanzo pushes him against a shadowed wall, drags him down the inches required for a kiss. Hanzo doesn't fight it when McCree's hands trace the narrow line of his waist through flannel, hook in his belt loops to pull him in closer.

"I got a place. Ain't much, but it's mine, safe house, hideaway. Will you...?" McCree asks in between kisses that taste like tobacco and beer.

"Was that your plan all along?" Hanzo teases, but he's already pulling away, towards McCree's bike. "Lure me up here?"

"Is it workin'? Cuz if it's workin' that was totally my plan all along." McCree turns them, pushes Hanzo towards the bike with a little more force than he meant, the two of them stumbling towards it with a sharp laugh.

"Let's go see, then, if it is." Hanzo runs his thumb along the lines of McCree's cybers and the shudder goes straight up his spine. "Let's go."

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps a bit NSFW.
> 
> Yeah.

 

The air smelled like pine, like wildflowers, as McCree and Hanzo navigated the trail in the dark. There was only so far the bike would go. The archer's hand was in his - flesh against flesh as he brought up the small light in his artificial one, a thin glow in the heavy night. The moon was only a flicker through the dense cover overhead.

(Reyes had hammered into him the need for safehouses, the need for an out. What Blackwatch did in the shadows wasn't always healthy for it's operatives)

"You weren't joking when you said it was out of the way." Hanzo laughed, sure-footed in the darkness and McCree started wondering anew about those sensitivity levels.

"We're here. It ain't much, but.." McCree's words were lost against Hanzo's lips, and the light swung wildly as trailed his hands down the broad plane of Hanzo's back through the flannel. He could feel the slight imbalance of the muscles - the strength required to hold the bow, the strength required to draw it. It left him breathless as those same arms pushed him back towards the house.

"Does it have a bed, Mister McCree?" Whispered as McCree pushed back that ridiculous trucker cap to comb his fingers through Hanzo's hair, cup his head to hold him still, just for a moment, savouring the kiss.

"It's got a bed." McCree chuckled, catching Hanzo's lower lip with his teeth as they backstepped into the shadows of the cabin. "And. Shit. It's been a while since I been here." He flopped back to the couch as Hanzo gave him a little shove. "Fuck. I mean, there's some lube-like substance in a drawer probably, but I didn't exactly use this place fer booty calls, an'..."

"Then we'll just have to be creative." Hanzo's grin flashed sharp in the narrow moonlight. "You'll have to tell me about the sensitivity levels in that hand of yours."

~~

McCree watched Hanzo strip, limned in moonlight. He wasn't shy about his body - McCree had already gathered that from Hanzo's usual battlefield attire - and the flannel and denim fell away with startling grace as McCree struggled his way out of his own. "I feel like a dope." He chuckled, kicking off his boots. 

"You are kind of a dope." Hanzo said agreeably, perching on McCree's chest when the cowboy tried to sit himself up. He could dimly feel the edge of the cushions cutting into his back, but it paled against the sight of Hanzo's shaft, heavy and warm, as the archer slowly ground himself against the rough hairs of McCree's chest.

He let one hand travel down Hanzo's thigh, tracing the lines of muscle until skin became scar tissue then polymers, carbon fiber, titanium. His own artificial hand rasped loudly against the matching materials of Hanzo's lower legs. "Does this bother you?"

"They're a part of who I am. I don't mind at all." Hanzo offered, balancing himself as he moved upward, cock brushing McCree's lips. "I was thinking, though, we might want to consider some alternate dinner plans, since I won all your money earlier?"

McCree only grinned in response and took Hanzo into his mouth. The other's pleased gasp as he arched himself over McCree was more satisfying than any snarky response he could have given, and he dragged his metal hand back up Hanzo's leg to take himself in hand, pressing his own shaft against the hard curves of Hanzo's rear.

When the archer had mercy, let him catch a breath, McCree traced Hanzo's shaft with sharp, rough kisses. "I can get behind these dinner plans alright indeed, there, Mister Shimada."

Hanzo laughed, thighs flexing as he balanced himself. "I'm so glad to hear that."

~~

McCree woke, blinking against the sunlight, confused and aching from the awkward position he'd found himself on the couch. A pile of clothes lay scattered on the floor and Hanzo's taste was still in his mouth.

He was cold, skin still remembering the warmth and weight of another's body against him as he'd drifted into the easiest sleep in years.

And someone was chopping wood.

He staggered outside with a yawn, barefoot and jeans half-fastened, to watch the Archer split wood from the half-done pile by the door. The dragons on his arm rippled with each stroke, and Hanzo had retrieved his hat, turned around to keep his hair from his face.

"Good morning, sunshine." McCree drawled, approaching cautiously, then sliding his hands down Hanzo's waist to pull him close, the archer's back slick with sweat against McCree's chest. "You did not hafta do this, y'know."

"You promised breakfast. And while your selection of MREs is truly delightful, the lack of electricity means if we don't have wood, we ultimately don't have coffee." Hanzo turned in McCree's embrace to squint up at him.

"Yeah, well, I put this place together t'store guns and get off the grid. Got a generator in the basement but it don't work fer shit." McCree traced the patterns of sweat on Hanzo's back as the smaller man slid his hands into McCree's back pockets. "Sorry, I'm kind of a shit host."

"Coffee, Jesse McCree. And your honor will be intact." Hanzo gave him a little squeeze then stepped back, proffering the axe. "Your weapon?"

"I did make a promise."

~~

They sat drinking brick-sealed coffee out of an old percolator pot and eating freeze-dried bacon and eggs as the sun spilled over the mountain. Hanzo had settled comfortably between McCree's longer legs and for a while, they ate in companionable silence.

"Y'know, we could stay here fer a while. There's plenty of supplies, I could get that generator workin' proper. We could stay." McCree ventured after a while, setting down his coffee to bury his face in Hanzo's hair.

"Away from the fighting. Away from everything?" Hanzo shifted to lean back, and McCree resettled his chin on the archer's shoulder, tracing the edge of the dragon's with his mouth.

"Tempting, just a little? Go down into town, shoot some pool, buy crap at the shitty general store, wake up to this." McCree reached down, plucking a Lilly of the valley stem and offering it to his companion.

Hanzo took the flowers, examining them as he lifted his chin, allowing McCree access to his throat. "I made a promise that I wouldn't run away anymore. That I would stand and fight and... And try to make things right."

"Genji." McCree nuzzled the side of Hanzo's throat. "Hanzo..."

"I... I was so angry at him when we fought. When I killed him. When I thought I killed him. I was angry at him. I was angry at myself. I was angry at the position that we had found ourselves in. And I lost control of my dragons." Hanzo flexed his arm, and McCree swore he saw a ripple of blue shift under his skin.

"The Shimada dragons are the manifestation of our souls. Our hearts given form. And when I unleashed them on Genji, they took all of that anger and focused it into a single point. And then it left me, suddenly. And I knew what I had done, what I was about to do. But I was not strong enough to pull them back. They destroyed everything in their path." Hanzo trailed off. "I can't stay here, Jesse." He leaned into McCree's kisses with a soft groan. "Genji. I don't know how to interact with him. He says he forgives me but I.."

"You can't forgive yourself, not yet." McCree said softly against the warmth of Hanzo's skin. "I know you said you weren't sure what this was gonna be, I mean, between us.."

"If you are willing to walk with me a little longer, we could find out." Hanzo's answer was barely more than a whisper as he dropped the flower stem. "I would like that, I think."

"Sounds fair enough, there." McCree raked his teeth over a knot of muscle and Hanzo shivered against him. "But maybe just a little while longer before we get back t'work?"

The air was sweet with the scent of pine and wildflowers as Hanzo turned and pushed McCree down, two pairs of hands twining as he bent to kiss him. "I think that would be very fine indeed."

 


End file.
